


The Thorns of a Rose

by PlethoraOfCreatures



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, No beta we die like mne, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, The Author Regrets Nothing, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:28:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24009622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlethoraOfCreatures/pseuds/PlethoraOfCreatures
Summary: A prince is cursed. There's a rose. There's a girl. You know the story.Except this girl is Selina Kyle.Please excuse my shitty summary, I'm fairly certain the story is better. No promises, though.
Relationships: Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who have read the update on the Headcanons and Such thing, this is one of the things I was talking about. Please read and comment, feed my addiction.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prince and a rose and a bad decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little short, but this is just the beginning. More will come, I promise.

There’s a castle, deep in the forest, hidden behind brambles and wolves and mists. It was old, crumbling, and cold, and anyone who entered would soon become devoid of hope. Because truly, it was a hopeless place.

There was once a happy family there, a family of three who ruled wisely and fairly over the land. For many years, the land was prosperous, and few had any grudges against the royal family. When the king and queen announced that they were expecting, the kingdom rejoiced, for they would soon have an heir. 

When the heir, a healthy baby boy with his father’s midnight hair and cerulean eyes and his mother’s laugh, is born, a great celebration is made, open to all people in the kingdom. They toasted to the royal line. _May they rule for evermore_ , they cried.

Their rule ended eleven years later when the king and queen’s carriage was waylaid by a group of bandits and they were shot dead by the leader’s pistol. The young prince, just barely eleven, was awaiting his parents’ return to the castle. When they failed to arrive even after two hours after sundown, a search was ordered. 

When the prince heard of this news, he was devastated. No longer was he the curious and innocent boy the castle staff had come to know and love. He was angry, so very angry. He felt betrayed by the people he was supposed to rule. He lost his faith in humanity. 

So on the first Christmas Eve without his parents, a time when the castle should have been bursting at the seams with joy, when everything was silent and dead, the young prince (a boy, still, remember that, just a boy who lost his parents) was in a darker mood than ever before. 

A knock sounded at the door, just barely heard over the howling of the winter storm outside. Bitterly cold, with driving wind and snow that felt more like tiny shards of ice. No one with any good sense would be out there. 

The prince looked up from the roaring fire and frowned. He was curled up on his father’s armchair (really now his armchair, but he had already decided to hell with thinking things over) and had a thick fur blanket pulled over him. Where was the butler? Wasn’t it he who greeted guests? 

The knock sounded again, more insistent, and the prince made his way to the doors and pulled them open, letting in a gust of wind and a swirl of snow. Shivering slightly from the cold, he peered at the person on the doorstep. 

Covered in a thin cloak, even the generous hood on the worn piece of cloth could not conceal the old crone’s hideousness. A long crooked nose, missing teeth, watery eyes. The young prince drew back slightly. 

“What is your business here?” he asked in his most imperious voice. He drew himself up, hoping to look intimidating. Considering he was not an inch taller than the old crone herself, he wasn’t all that successful. 

“Please, my lord,” the old woman croaked piteously. “I merely request shelter from the storm. Someplace to warm my hands for the night.”

Filled with a wave of sudden anger, the prince scowled. 

“You will have to find shelter elsewhere, woman,” he said. “Leave this place.”

“My lord, I can pay,” the woman said, drawing out a beautiful red rose from the depths of her cloak. 

The prince stared. Roses were his mother’s favorite. She had a garden full of them. They sat empty and desolate now, simply thorns. But seeing the familiar flower filled him with a rage that scared him. 

“How dare you!” he shouted, eyes blazing with fury. “Leave at once, you wretch!”

Far from cowering in the face of the prince’s anger, the old woman drew herself up, taller than the prince, taller than anyone he had ever seen. He realized that she was floating as he had to crane his neck to look at her. A golden glow filled the room, the radiance banishing every shadow and casting the terrified prince in the harsh light. 

Her face and clothing had changed as well, the worn and tattered cloak shifting into a flowing dress that glowed with the same brilliance as her. Her face became young once more, no longer disfigured and icy. The enchantress looked down upon the cowering prince and spoke in ringing tones. 

“I have seen that there is no compassion in your heart,” she said, and if the prince wasn’t so terrified, he might have heard a note of pity in her voice. 

(The enchantress always has a reason for what she does and doesn’t do. This punishment may seem harsh, but she had seen the man that the prince would grow to become if someone did not intervene. In her mind, this was for the best.)

The prince tried to apologize, but he was frozen, unable to do anything but shake in terror as he gazed at the enchantress. 

“For this,” the enchantress continued, “I shall reveal what is on the inside of your heart.”

A searing pain started in the prince’s chest, and it spread all over his body. Bones twisted into new and unnatural shapes, his teeth lengthened into fangs, fingernails became claws. He couldn’t even scream at the agony. 

“What - are you - doing to me?” the prince cried.

Paying him no heed, the enchantress continued, her words echoing with a horrible sense of finality. “This rose will bloom until the dawn of your twenty-first birthday,” she said. “When the last petal falls, my curse will become permanent, and you will remain a monster for the rest of your days.”

The prince was finally able to cry out, but instead of a human cry of pain, out came the howl of a wounded animal. 

“Only by falling in love with another and earning their love in return will you be able to break the spell I have cast upon you,” the enchantress said. “Remember. The dawn of your twenty-first birthday.”

With those final words, her light grew brighter and brighter until she disappeared with a crack of lightning. 

To ensure that her plan would work, the enchantress not only wiped away the memories of everyone who had ever known the royal family, but she had also made the surrounding forests grow thicker and wilder than before, with snow even in August and wolves behind every tree. The castle was isolated from the outside world, and would remain so for many years.

As time went on, days stretching into months and years, the castle lost hope that they would ever be human again, resigning themselves to the fate of inanimate objects and one mournful monster. Even if someone did discover them in their solitude, well, it was still a long shot. 

For after all, who could ever learn to love a beast?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and feed my addiction. See you soon!


	2. Not Odd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Selina Kyle wasn't odd. She was strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a birthday present from me to you, have a chapter!

Selina Kyle wasn’t odd. No, she wasn’t. She smiled, greeted people, knew how to sew and apply makeup. To anyone outside of Gotham, she was just any ordinary young lady. 

However, she definitely wasn’t average. 

She smiled, but it was always like she was keeping a secret. She knew the arts of home life, but she also knew how to climb up to the rooftops and run as light as a cat through the town. She moved silently, quieter than any hunter. She was the despair of the other young women in Gotham, looking beautiful even with her wild curls unbrushed and her tan skin dappled with freckles and other marks. 

Selina Kyle wasn’t odd. 

She was _strange._

But perhaps what made her stand out the most was her ongoing feud with Harvey Dent, the town hero. 

Dent, by all accounts, was the perfect man. Handsome, charming, a war hero, well-off. A ladies man. A few women were known to quite literally swoon when he walked past them in the street. But he only had eyes for one Selina Kyle, who quite wished that they were somewhere else. 

She made that perfectly clear when he attempted to kiss her in the street and got a boot to the crotch. Unfortunately for him, Selina wore steel-toed boots. 

This was going to be another one of those days, Selina was thinking as she made her way through the town. She walked briskly, nodding to the people who greeted her on her regular route to the marketplace. She had heard that Dent would be returning from his latest hunting trip that day and she hoped that he was successful. Because if he wasn’t, she knew she would be the next game. 

“How are you doing, Selina?” asked the baker, a portly man with a bristling ginger mustache and a face to match it. “Jim doing well?”

Selina lived with her uncle, James, in a little cottage a ways from the main town. He was a retired soldier, who was still sometimes called upon to train others. They got along well. Selina’s parents had died when she was very young and she didn’t have many memories of them, but Jim would always have a story about his brother. Most of the time, those stories were about when he did something embarrassing. But they were always amusing to listen to. 

“Yes, we’re doing fine, thank you,” Selina said politely. 

“The usual order?” the baker asked. 

“Yes, please, but add another sourdough loaf,” she said. “Uncle’s going off on a trip to the outpost this week to see some new recruits.” Which would leave her alone. _Better make sure my boots are on hand,_ she added to herself. 

“That’s fine,” the baker said. She handed him the coins and went on her way, tossing a few crumbs to the geese that crowed around the fountain. 

She ran through her mental checklist. _Bread, check, eggs, check, dairy, check, fish, check. What am I missing?_

She rolled her eyes. _Forgot to grab Uncle Jim’s book for him, didn’t you._

Her uncle was of a different opinion than the rest of Gotham about reading. Few girls could read, not because it was frowned upon, but because many didn’t have the time. They were being taught other things, like gardening, stitching, and cooking. All of which were important skills, yes. Young boys, however, were sent to school, where they would learn arithmetic, history, and reading. On the side, they would also be taught how to fight. 

Not like that part was official, but Selina had passed by the schoolyard enough that she knew that they weren’t playing chess or soccer there. Jim had insisted that she at least know how to throw a decent enough punch. 

“I’m not always going to be around, Selina,” he had said seriously. Then the usual sparkle in his eyes had come back. “You can’t count on me to fend off unwanted suitors.” 

Her uncle had also taught her the basics of sewing and cooking. Mended clothes wouldn’t be pretty, but then again, they didn’t have to be. And while Selina couldn’t bake a pie for her life, give her some basic ingredients and there’ll be a pretty good stew. 

However, Selina grew bored and so her uncle, deciding that expected limitations were idiotic, taught her to read. And then he might have opened up a monster. Selina loved to read. She especially liked the tale of Robin Hood, the man who stole from the rich and gave to the poor. When she was younger, she was intent on embodying his spirit, rather than Maid Marian’s, who was just as impressive an archer and swordsman as Robin Hood himself. In fact, she sometimes acted as a spy, something Jim thought that Selina would love. 

When asked why she would grin and say “Robin Hood is the outlaw.”

Which was a little concerning for her uncle, to say the least. 

Before she knew it, she was back at the gate of the house. As she climbed the steps, she took a handful of grain out of the clay pot that was by the door and tossed it to the chickens. 

The cottage was small, yes, but it was home. One main room with areas acting as kitchen and sitting room with a fireplace crackling merrily. Two other rooms branched off, one as her uncle’s room and one as hers. 

A thud came from the basement below, and her uncle poked his head up out of the trapdoor. His glasses were knocked slightly askew and were smudged. 

“Selina?” he asked. “You’re back from town already?” She helped him up and brushed his shirt off before he tried to use it to clean his glasses. 

“No, I still need to return your book,” she said. She picked it up off of the table and set down the things that she had purchased for the week. “I’ll run back while you put the food away, right?”

Her uncle nodded. “Of course, of course,” he said. “I’ll leave maybe around noon today. I’ll be back in a few days at the most.”

Selina sighed. “You’d think that they actually know how to train men at this point,” she said, smiling. 

He chuckled. “Alas, they still need my guidance,” he said. 

Just before Selina closed the door, she heard him say, “And she got me an _extra_ sourdough, thank God.”

Disturbing the chickens that were still clucking over the grain, she ran back to town just in time to see Dent ride back in on his buckskin horse. Dismounting, he tied the reins to his usual post and went inside the pub. Selina breathed a sigh of relief. This meant she had time to return the book and get back to her house without ever interacting with the man. 

Ducking inside the little library, she saw the old man who ran the place. It was only a few shelves of books, but it was enough for her. 

“Hello, Miss Kyle,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

She held up the book. “My uncle’s leaving on a trip, and he’s asked me to return this for him,” she said. She handed it over to him and glanced at the shelves. Her eyes alighted on a spine that she hadn’t seen before. 

“Did you get a new book?” she asked, grinning. 

“I was wondering when you’d notice,” the man said. “Yes, yes I did. I saw it and thought of you. It’s a collection of Robin Hood tales.” 

Selina laughed in excitement. “Can I-”

“It’s already checked out in your name, my girl,” the man said. “Enjoy!”

Carefully taking the volume off of the shelf, she hugged it to her chest. “Thank you so much!”

“You’re welcome!” he called as she raced outside. 

_Maybe today won’t be so bad,_ she thought. 

Of course, then she jinxed herself, as Dent caught sight of her hurrying home. 

“Selina!” he called, using his height to easily catch up with her. “Where are you off to in such a rush?”

Selina took a deep breath, reminding herself not to glare. She forced a smile and said “I’m heading home. I have a book I’d like to start reading.”

“Fascinating,” he said. “What’s it about?”

“Oh, it’s a collection of stories about-”

“That’s great,” he said, taking her by the shoulders and starting to walk in the direction of the cottage. “I was thinking, what if I treat you to lunch in the pub? We can go and look at the trophies I’ve collected, share a drink-”

“That sounds _l_ _ovely_ , Harvey, but-” she wriggled out of his grasp. He smelled like gunpowder with a faint hint of beer. “But I need to help my uncle with packing for his trip.”

Which was a blatant lie, of course. Her uncle liked to pack for his trips weeks in advance. But what Dent didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. 

“Tomorrow, perhaps?” he suggested, looking slightly disappointed.

“Maybe,” she allowed. “But for now, I really must get going.” 

She hurried off, thanking the lord that he didn’t press. She entered the house again, peering through the windows as he made his way back to the pub, kicking stones as he went. She let loose a breath that she didn’t realize that she had been holding and turned to look at the table where her uncle was sitting with an eyebrow raised. 

“Steel-toed boots,” was all he said in a deadpan, and Selina snickered. 

“A must,” she said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes. In my version, Jim Gordon is Selina's uncle. Harvey Dent is the equivalent to Gaston, because seriously, the comparison was just too good to ignore. A local hero with good looks but an ugly dark side? Is it just me? 
> 
> This one is longer, and so is the next one. It's looking to be at about two-thousand-ish words at this point. 
> 
> Please, please, tell me what you think! Comments make me happy!


	3. Wolves In The Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Gordon may have taken a wrong turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is so late. It's longer than the others, so take that as a consolidation prize. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“So, Selina,” Jim said as they saddled up Isis. She was a good mare, even-tempered, and with a very nice black coat with a white stripe down her nose. “Shall I get you a souvenir?”

Selina stroked the horse’s nose, thinking for a moment.

“Do you want me to take another armor helmet?” he asked.

Selina flushed. “That was _one_ time, and I wanted to see if you’d actually do it!” she protested.

“You know better than to think I won’t take a dare,” he said.

She was quiet for a moment more. “Can you get me a rose?” she asked softly.

Roses were her mother’s favorite. She didn’t remember much about her, but the one crystal-clear memory she had of her was in a garden, showing her how to pick one without getting cut by the thorns.

Her uncle nodded resolutely. “Your wish is my command,” he said, bowing. Selina smacked his shoulder.

“Just get going already,” she said with a smile.

“Eager to be rid of me so soon?” he teased.

“The sooner you leave, the sooner you’ll come back,” she reasoned.

“I can’t fault you for that,” he said as he swung himself into the saddle. He flicked the reins and Iris started forward. “I’ll be back in a few days!” he called over his shoulder. “With the rose! And a full set of armor!”

“Good luck with that!” she called. She stayed on the front porch, even after they had ridden out of sight. 

“Please be safe,” she murmured under her breath.

* * *

Harvey Dent made his way back to the pub and slumped down heavily on his favorite armchair. It was bad enough that he had to return to the place alone after declaring that Selina would be on his arm the next time he came in, but now he also had no tales of grandeur to tell to his usual admirers.

“Given up yet, Dent?” asked the bartender, Bullock. He was friends with Jim and knew enough about Selina that the day she agreed to go out with Dent would be the day Bullock wore a dress and sang soprano. He secretly wanted to continue to encourage Dent’s idiotic behaviour, as it was pretty much the best entertainment he’d ever seen, but at the same time, he knew that the young man needed to wake up and smell the whiskey. Selina didn’t like him, and that was that.

“Never,” he snapped. “She’ll see what she’s missing out on soon enough.”

“Sure, sure,” he agreed amicably. Inside, he was worried. Dent had been off, lately. Snapping one minute and smiling the next. Bullock had been chalking it up to stress or bad days, but he still pitied the man who crossed Harvey when he was in one of his foul moods. Bad days or no, not all was well in the head of Harvey Dent, that was for sure.

* * *

“Well, Isis,” Jim said as they rode on through the night. “I am fairly certain we missed a turn.”

The woods around them were pitch black, the only light the short glow of fireflies weaving in the trees. The moon was a thin crescent in the sky, but not long after it had shown itself, thick clouds covered the meager light it had provided. But eventually, the fireflies had tapered off, leaving a chilly breeze and a sense of uneasiness behind.

Using the lantern he had to peer at the map once more, Jim sighed and pulled Isis to a stop. “Looks like we’re retracing our steps, girl,” he said. Carefully maneuvering them into the opposite direction, they started off once more.

They came to a crossroads that Jim had sworn that wasn’t there before. He looked at the map again.

“Oh, damn it all,” he sighed. Seeing the faint hoofprints and wheel marks in the path to the left, he decided that was the best way to continue on. Hopefully, they would come across another small town or village and figure out where they were from there.

“I’m sorry, Isis,” he said, patting the mare’s neck. She tossed her head in response. “I have no clue where we are.” Looking around them, he sighed again. “Guess the only thing to do is just carry on,” he said.

As they traveled down the path Jim had chosen, the air steadily got colder and colder, until his breath was misting in front of him. He placed a hand on his pistol, reassuring himself that it was still there. Magic be damned, nothing was faster than a bullet.

The moonlight shone down on them once more, and somehow, the thin sliver of silver in the sky had become a full moon. A sudden crunching noise made him look down and he realized that now everything was covered in about an inch of snow. Icicles hung from bare tree branches and flurries drifted from the sky.

Jim swore. No sign of life was worth this madness. Just as he was about to turn around, the mournful howl of wolves sounded behind them. His blood went cold and he dug his heels into Isis’ sides as a large white wolf lunged from the trees and snapped at him.

“ _Run_ , Isis!” he shouted, and with a shrill whinny, she charged ahead. Jim glanced back and saw the wolves begin to chase them. Five, ten, fifteen. Jim didn’t have enough bullets to kill all of them, but he put down at least three before he looked ahead of them again. 

Low-hanging branches whipped at his face and one knocked away his glasses. He swore again. So much for taking out a few more wolves. Something that was in their favor was the fact that the wild and thorny underbrush was giving the wolves trouble chasing them at top speed.

Squinting ahead, he thought he could make out gates of some kind. He didn’t care where they led, so long as the wolves couldn’t get through them. Urging Isis on, he was surprised to see the gates swing open by themselves as they drew near. Perhaps there were people on the other side?

They charged through the gates and they slammed shut. Jim could see now that there actually wasn’t anyone at the gatehouse at all, but he didn’t want to ponder that. Reaching for his pistol once more, he swore again as he realized he must have lost it in the wild chase.

He dismounted from the heaving Isis and stroked her nose to calm her down. _She deserves all the apples,_ he thought to himself. _All of them._

Taking the reins, he led her forward, gazing up at the huge castle. Where they had entered was one of the side gates along the edge of an icy garden that was somehow bursting with roses. The castle itself rose up like a grim monolith, all dark stone and ugly gargoyles with spread wings. Towers rose into the air, connected with catwalks and staircases. Right by the steps that lead to the doors, there was a stable, with fresh hay and water and everything a horse could need. A soft light came from the building, as a few lanterns were lit inside.

“There you go, Isis,” he said softly, loosening the saddle straps. “Just relax while I’ll go into the terrifyingly dark castle and see if anyone’s home.”

Indeed, all the windows were dark as he walked up the steps. But when he went to knock on the ornate door, they swung open by themselves much as the gate had. Desperately wishing that he still had his gun, he slowly walked inside.

The inside was just as grand as the outside, with numerous columns that had marble dragons twisting around them. A large coat of arms that he didn’t recognize decorated the floor, and a massive staircase led to more floors. To his right, a fire had been lit in one of the fireplaces. There was a large chair that was right next to it and he walked over.

He hadn’t been able to feel his hands for some time now, and he groaned in relief at the warmth.

* * *

Unnoticed by Jim, two figures conversed quietly.

“You think he got lost in the woods?”

“Quiet, Lucius."

“Lighten up!”

“That’s funny, coming from _you-_ ”

“He’s coming this way!”

They snapped back into stillness as the man made his way over. True stillness, not when one simply blinks and sways for a moment, but still as if they had been carved from stone. No breath. No sign of life.

Considering one was an ornate golden candelabra and the other was a magnificent mantle clock, this was far easier for them than it was for anyone else.

Glancing around in confusion, the man stared at the two items on the table. He shrugged and started to walk away before pusing, turning on his heel, and picked up the candelabra and examined it closely.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “They made a candlestick with a face.”

“And a damned attractive one at that!” Lucius said suddenly. Jim, in a reasonable reaction to houseware speaking to him, threw the candelabra as hard as possible.

Lucius landed with a loud thud against the mantle clock and Jim started questioning his very reality as the mantle clock gave a muffled swear and started pushing the candelabra away.

“Oh, I get it,” Jim said bleakly. “I’m dead. I was eaten by wolves and this is my afterlife. Where everything is alive.”

“No, of course you’re not dead,” the mantle clock said calmly, if a little irritated. Well, Jim couldn’t blame the clock, he just threw a _sentient candle_ at him.

“Oh, really?” Jim asked in a slightly higher-pitched voice. “Because I’m pretty sure that me being dead is the only reasonable explanation as to why a mantle clock and a candlestick are _speaking_ to me.”

“Candelabra,” Lucius muttered. “It’s not all that difficult.”

The clock paid him no mind. “I am Alfred Pennyworth,” he said, tilting forward and moving decorative metal pieces that somehow substituted for arms in what came off as a bow. “And _this_ waxen buffoon is Lucius Fox,” Alfred Pennyworth said, gesturing to the candelabra, who waved an arm that ended in a flaming candle.

“The one and only,” he said, taking an actual bow.

Jim took a deep breath and considered his options. His mother had always told him to be polite, and the day his mother was wrong was the day Bullock wore a dress and sang soprano.

“My name is Jim Gordon,” he said politely. “I was on my way to a military outpost when I got lost.”

“And then the wolves?” Pennyworth asked.

Jim nodded. “And then the wolves,” he said. “I don’t suppose you could point me in the direction of the nearest town?” he asked. “I don’t want to intrude.”

Lucius opened his mouth as if to object, but Pennyworth shot him a glare that practically doused the candle on his head.

“Of course,” Lucius said. “We don’t have a map on hand, but if you go southeast from here, you’ll come across a road. Follow that for a few hours, and by sunrise at the latest, you’ll be at a large town.”

“The wolves won’t go after you again if they see that you’re leaving,” Pennyworth put in. “They’re fickle creatures, but it’s a good thing for you.”

Jim nodded gratefully. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll be on my way then.”

“Safe travels!” the two called as Jim left the castle.

They were silent for a moment before Alfred spoke.

“Well,” he said. “The first visitor in months and it goes quite smoothly. I wonder what’s next.”

“Don’t count on that, Alfred,” Lucius said. “The Master is awake this time of night and our friend has yet to leave the grounds.”

“He seemed like a sensible man,” Alfred reasoned. “I’m sure he’s on his way right now.”

As it was, Jim was, in fact, riding away from the castle on Isis, who was doing quite well after her stay in the stables.

“You know, Isis,” he said conversationally. “For talking inanimate objects, they were fine men.”

He gazed over the gardens once more, again noting the blooming blood-red roses. He remembered Selina’s request.

He glanced around, debating. To take a rose from here would be stealing, and that would be poor repayment after Lucius and Alfred had given him directions. Then again, no one was out here, and there must have been thousands of roses in the garden.

Deciding that he would pay for his sins later, he dismounted and reached out for a rose, only to have a thorn slice his finger. Wrapping the cut in his handkerchief, he managed to separate the stem from the rest of the bush.

Iris whinnied in alarm as Jim climbed back into the saddle and he patted her neck. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It was just a scra-”

Before he could finish, something large and dark and _heavy_ tackled Jim to the ground with a monstrous snarl of rage. Iris practically shrieked in terror, rearing up onto her hind legs before taking off like a bullet. Before he could get a good look at whatever the hell had drop-kicked him from on high, he was hoisted into the air by that same _thing,_ claws digging into his shoulders and huge black wings beating in the air.

Despite Jim’s best efforts, a combination of a pretty good knock to the head, exhaustion, blood loss, and a healthy fear of heights was a difficult thing to overcome. So before they had reached their destination, James Gordon passed out cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we have Alfred and Lucius! Honestly, Lucius was just perfect for the role. You know why? Because his name means light. I'm a genius, I think. The next chapter should be up sooner! Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I humbly ask for your opinion. More will come, I promise, and I know this is short, but other chapters will be longer, I promise. This is just some setup.
> 
> Goodbye!


End file.
